Son Of A Gun, chapter 2
I sat in Math class. I watched the clock carefully. It seemed with every minute the hour lost, ten minutes were thrown back on. It was never ending.
I heard laughter from behind me; I looked back. They were pointing and laughing at me. Passing notes about me. I reached back and peeled of the sign that someone had stuck onto me.
"Kick me," it read.
"Very original." I laughed.
Passing notes in math class.
Freedom wears your scars of desire.
It's a coming of age story.
I've read this book before.
Freedom wear your scars of desire.
Conflicting impulses.
Freedom wear your scars of desire.
Cuts seem to bend the sky.
Bend (bend) the (the) sky (sky).
Anxious eyes stare out of warped glass
Waiting for the 3 o'clock bell.
I arrived home. As usual, no one was there. My parents were always on "business trips", or so they tell me. When reality, they're off in Vegas, gambling my college fund away. Nice parents, eh?
I slumped into my kitchen. Dimly lit; one window above the sink, blocked by a large tree in the backyard. I opened the fridge to see...nothing. I sighed and slammed it closed. Taking my shoes off, I ran down to my basement. Which had become my layer.
A large brown recliner sat in the corner; scattered newspapers on it. A broken television sat in the very corner of the room; it broke almost fifteen years ago, never bothered to get it fixed. The basement -like the rest of the house- was dimly lit. You would have thought we were vampires. There was a door at the back of the linen closet. I always kept it locked. It was my room. I dug for the golden keys in my pocket, and unlocked the door quickly.
Walking into my room, you'd think it'd be a normal teenagers room. Posters lined the walls, Anti-Flag, the misfits, Black Flag, The Casualties, thought riot, suicide machines, all bands that parents assumed to be the cause of their child's rebellion. In the very corner of the room, there was a desk with a bulletin board above it. There were newspaper clippings covering it. 'Next Columbine?', 'Tragic shooting; leaving people mourning' , 'Let the healing begin' , 'school shooting rampage; ,worst since columbine'
Those were just a few headlines on the clippings. Did I do them? God no. You're probably wondering why I have them, then, am I right?
Well, let me explain then.
To put it simply...I want revenge. I had been tormented all of my life. The way I see it, this is revenge. The only way fit. I want to study from these mistakes, that these "killers" made, and make sure that I succeed. Revenge is a beautiful thing. You may think I am insane, or need to be put away. Well, I beg to differ.
I sat down on the padded chair, and began 'studying'. This was going to take a lot of...preparation. I am planning on doing it next Friday.
I heard laughter from behind me; I looked back. They were pointing and laughing at me. Passing notes about me. I reached back and peeled of the sign that someone had stuck onto me.
"Kick me," it read.
"Very original." I laughed.
Passing notes in math class.
Freedom wears your scars of desire.
It's a coming of age story.
I've read this book before.
Freedom wear your scars of desire.
Conflicting impulses.
Freedom wear your scars of desire.
Cuts seem to bend the sky.
Bend (bend) the (the) sky (sky).
Anxious eyes stare out of warped glass
Waiting for the 3 o'clock bell.
I arrived home. As usual, no one was there. My parents were always on "business trips", or so they tell me. When reality, they're off in Vegas, gambling my college fund away. Nice parents, eh?
I slumped into my kitchen. Dimly lit; one window above the sink, blocked by a large tree in the backyard. I opened the fridge to see...nothing. I sighed and slammed it closed. Taking my shoes off, I ran down to my basement. Which had become my layer.
A large brown recliner sat in the corner; scattered newspapers on it. A broken television sat in the very corner of the room; it broke almost fifteen years ago, never bothered to get it fixed. The basement -like the rest of the house- was dimly lit. You would have thought we were vampires. There was a door at the back of the linen closet. I always kept it locked. It was my room. I dug for the golden keys in my pocket, and unlocked the door quickly.
Walking into my room, you'd think it'd be a normal teenagers room. Posters lined the walls, Anti-Flag, the misfits, Black Flag, The Casualties, thought riot, suicide machines, all bands that parents assumed to be the cause of their child's rebellion. In the very corner of the room, there was a desk with a bulletin board above it. There were newspaper clippings covering it. 'Next Columbine?', 'Tragic shooting; leaving people mourning' , 'Let the healing begin' , 'school shooting rampage; ,worst since columbine'
Those were just a few headlines on the clippings. Did I do them? God no. You're probably wondering why I have them, then, am I right?
Well, let me explain then.
To put it simply...I want revenge. I had been tormented all of my life. The way I see it, this is revenge. The only way fit. I want to study from these mistakes, that these "killers" made, and make sure that I succeed. Revenge is a beautiful thing. You may think I am insane, or need to be put away. Well, I beg to differ.
I sat down on the padded chair, and began 'studying'. This was going to take a lot of...preparation. I am planning on doing it next Friday.
